Just Add Water
by Alix Cohen
Summary: England. Stuffy, pretentious ex-empire? Not when it's raining...FrUKUS; fluffy as Arthur's eyebrows. T for implications. Country and human names used.


April 2011; Pittsburgh; morning

The World Conference had gone better than usual, America reflected. Germany hadn't shut him up this week; everyone seemed to know what they wanted out of Lybia's crazy boss, and the EU wasn't bickering as much as usual; even England…England…

A shout behind him caught his attention. "Watch it, frog!" He turned around. England had France's wrist in a death grip; France was trying to look remorseful, and failing. "Just because we're leading the airstrikes together doesn't mean you can invade _my_ airspace!"

"Ah, cher, forgive me, it was a symbolic gesture, cooperation—" England snorted, let go of France, and stormed out of the room.

France felt behind him for a chair, pulled it out, and sat heavily. "Ah, kid," he said to America, who was the only Nation left in the room, "what do I do?" America didn't know what to say.

"He's so uptight," France complained. "I'm starting to think I've been wasting my efforts. There are so many beautiful beings in this world that are willing to accept my attention—why do I bother?"

He'd meant it as a rhetorical question, but America thought about it. And suddenly, he had an answer.

* * *

><p><em>The day before, late afternoon<em>

_It was pouring in Pittsburgh. The first really warm day in spring, and America could barely see out the windows of the Cathedral. He was wearing his raincoat, zipped up securely against the flood. England, on the other hand, was in shirtsleeves and impatient._

"_Come on, git! It's just rain; let's go already!"_

"_Can't we wait till it lets up? England—" and his ally was striding out into the downpour. America rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, and followed._

_A block and a half on, the rain was marginally lighter. America's jeans were soaked up to the bottom of his raincoat, and his feet squished in his sneakers. He felt kind of clammy. _

_England looked like he'd just gone swimming. His shirt was plastered to his chest (at least he's a _handsome_ idiot)—and he laughed as he brushed wet hair out of his eyes._

"_What's wrong, Alfred?" he asked. "Going to melt, are we?"_

_America was dumbfounded. He hadn't heard England laugh in centuries. "Um, are you okay, England?" he asked._

"_I'm _wonderful_, Alfred," England replied, smiling. "_This_ is _weather_! Come on, enjoy it!" He stepped behind America and pulled his hood off._

_America blinked, speechless, putting a hand to his forehead to keep the rain off his glasses. "What?"_

"_This is _your_ bloody weather, kid. Take the bloody coat off and _enjoy_ it!"_

"_England? Arthur? I think you've gone a little crazy."_

"_Who's mad, kid? This is _real_ rain!"_

_Suddenly, America got it. England felt at home in the rain. He felt better, understanding that. Enough to maybe—wait a second—_

_He darted under the skywalk that crossed Forbes Avenue, and unzipped his raincoat. The cool breeze hit him, and he realized that he was sweating._

_England snatched the coat from his back, and America was suddenly glad to not be wearing it. England, however, wasn't done. "The jacket?" he said. America reluctantly took off his bomber jacket and folded it over his arm._

_England smiled again. "That's more like it!" he shouted, slapping America on the back with a wet hand. America realized he was smiling too. It was nice, to see England so happy._

"_Race you to the hotel?" he suggested._

_They ran all the way, ignoring traffic signals and jumping into the puddles at street corners. When they reached the overhang at the hotel, they were both soaked to the skin and laughing hysterically._

_It wasn't until they got into the elevator that America realized he was wearing his Uncle Sam t-shirt. The one that said _I Want You _on it._

* * *

><p>The boy was unusually quiet, France noticed, and he had an odd smile. "What are you thinking, kid?" he asked.<p>

"Keep bothering, Francis," America said softly. "He's not lost—to either of us. He's ready—just add water." Before France could ask him what he meant, he was himself again. "Hey, I hear the bus. Better go, France!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I had this idea walking back from class today in a downpour. Raincoats are _humid_ on the inside.

The Cathedral of Learning is a really awesome building at the University of Pittsburgh. It's 42 stories tall, and has peregrine falcons nesting on the roof. The only taller academic building in the world is at the University of Moscow (headcanon says it's America and Russia flipping each other off). There's a hotel about five blocks away that I thought would be perfect for hosting a World Meeting.


End file.
